


Two Can Play That Game

by LesbianDaydreams



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: 8th year canon divergence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Fem SnowBaz, Genderbending, Girls Kissing, Happy Ending, I mean years 1-7 are canon aside from the girls thing??, Light Angst, SnowBaz, im so bad at tagging
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-18 11:08:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15484437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LesbianDaydreams/pseuds/LesbianDaydreams
Summary: Sophie Snow is completely fed up with her evil vampire roommate's dodgy behavior. The dodgy part? Baz had shown no signs of plotting against her so far all year! Sophie just knows that she's up to something and plotting in secret, and she's determined to find out what. If Baz wanted to play underhandedly, then two can play that game.





	1. Was it Something that I Said?

**Author's Note:**

> Hi hello! This is my first fic on AO3. A new chapter should emerge weekly! This is going to end up 3, maybe 4 chapters long.

**Sophie**

She's up to something. I just _know_ she is. I can physically _feel_ it. She had been far too quiet lately—suspiciously so. Of course, I don't mean quiet in the literal sense—she still mocks, teases, and belittles me. I mean quiet as in she hasn't been plotting anything lately, or at least not blatantly so. Maybe she was just trying to be less conspicuous. Maybe she was trying to get one step ahead of me by making me _think_ she had given up plotting so I'd lower my guard.

I don't know which is worse—her plotting right under my nose, or her lack of plotting being part of a larger, more elaborate plot, where I'd never even know where and when she'll strike. After some consideration, I realise that I prefer the former. It's time for _me_ to take the upper hand.

I have notebook that my best friend, Perry, gave me. He says that it's for me to jot down my emotions. He thinks it will help me keep from going off as often. As of this year (and, admittedly, last year, too), it had gone towards other uses. I'm just being practical—using the notebook to keep record of every dodgy thing that Baz does. If I can gather enough clues, I can try to puzzle the pieces together to give me insight on her plots.

This year had been no different. Well, actually, no—it had. That's the _thing_. The only dodgy thing I've picked up on was a _lack_ of dodgy activity. It had been driving me absolutely mad. Why now? Why plot against me for 7 years only to give up 8th year? It doesn't make any sense at all, and Baz is _not_ the kind of girl to just give up.

As if on cue, she walks into our shared room. I wonder if she can read minds. Maybe it's a vampire thing. No, I think that if she could read my mind I'd know by now. I'm probably staring at her, but I'm just trying to gather anything out of the ordinary about her movements.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" She's scowling. "Is there something on my face?" She raises one of her perfect eyebrows at me.

"I know you're up to something. You're not as clever as you think," I spat. I don't clue her in on the fact that I don't exactly know _what_ it is that she's plotting, but I want her to know that she's not slick. All she does in response to my accusation is flash me one of her smirks. The absolute _tosser_.

"Pray tell, Snow, what _am_ I up to, exactly?" Her previously held scowl replaces itself with a smirk. She seems far too amused. I _hate_ it.

"You would have to be an absolute bloody _nutter_ to think I would give away my upper hand just like that!" I'm growling at her now. I'm not even sure why I'm so narked. Not only that, but I feel like it's coming out of nowhere. Maybe it's stress of not knowing what she's plotting.

"Would you calm down? I don't particularly feel up to dealing with you going off and nearly singeing off one of my eyebrows again."

"Oh, sod off, will you? I'm not going off."

"Right, you're just being your usual cock-up self. How could I have forgotten."

"You don't always have to be such an arse!" I pause for a moment, thinking up what to say next. "Just-.. just get lost before, um, I-... before I break your nose again!"

"I don't have to 'get lost', Snow. I live here too."

"Sorry, I can't hear you over the sound of you begging me to break your nose again!"

"Do it, I dare you. Then maybe the Anathema will get rid of you once and for all."

"Well then, uh, _you_ break _my_ nose! Then _I_ can get rid of _you_."

"I would, honestly, but with a face like yours, I think a broken nose would be an improvement." She's sneering. Why does she sneer so bloody much?

"You're one to talk! You have the face of an, uh, a goblin!" When I say this, I don’t mean the real life attractive ones! I mean the goblins in those folklore drawings made by normals. 

She _doesn't_ have the face of a goblin. That's the most infuriating part! She has aristocratic features. Her face is sharp and angular, but in an absurdly attractive way. Her stormy grey eyes radiate intelligence. Her pale skin is always unfairly clear. Her makeup is always flawless and it's never too much, and her raven coloured hair always pulled neatly back into a bun.

That's one imperfection about her, I think. She looks much prettier when it's down framing her face. It's long, thick, and wavy, and it cascades over her shoulders like a dark curtain. I only see it like that when she's dressed in pyjamas ready to sleep, or when she's just woken up.

"The face of a goblin? I'm sure you're well chuffed about thinking _that_ one up. Did you come up with it yourself, or did you have Bunce help you?" She laughs softly to herself over her own little snide remark. The look on her face as she says this tells me that I'm getting too worked up. I'm making things too easy for her. In fact, I'm practically dropping the victory right into her lap.

"Fuck off."

"That's what I thought."

* * *

 

**Baz**

Snow's little "fuck off" is the signal that I've won. Something was off with her today. She was wound up unusually tight. Stress, maybe? She seemed to be convinced that I was plotting against her, yet again. I was thick enough to think she had dropped the whole paranoia thing this year. I guess not.

I can't get over the way she was looking at me when I first walked through the door. She was looking me up and down, scrutinising me. Maybe when I lay awake thinking about it later tonight, I can flatter myself a bit and try to convince myself she was looking at me with awe, rather than suspicion.

A little over an hour later and Snow's sitting on her bed, _still_ brooding, while I'm trying to work on my homework assignment.

"Knock it off, Snow."

"I'm not doing anything!"

"You're being," I pause for a moment (dramatic effect, of course), " _unnerving_."

"Good!" She's such a child sometimes. All of the women in the World of Mages, and my heart chooses _her_. Why her. Why _me?_

I look outside and realize it's getting dark. I need to hunt before it'll be too late for me to return before the drawbridge gets pulled up for the night. I grab my jacket and get ready to leave. Snow narrows her eyes.

"Where are you going?" Nothing can ever be easy for me, can it?

"You ask that like its any of _your_ concern where I'm going."

"Oh I see," she winks. "Vampire stuff."

"Snow, how many times do I have to tell you-," I can't finish speaking before she cuts me off.

"So then what _are_ you doing?" Snow's doing that little thing with her face where she squints at me, her lips pursed and her eyebrows all furrowed up in thought. I ignore her and continue towards the door. "It's obviously something secretive if you're being so dodgy about it."

"Or, maybe," I reply, "Im _not_ being dodgy, and it's simply just none of your business," I sneer, hoping she'll back off. Bloody Snow. She can't just lay off for even a minute. At least it's better now than it was back in 5th year. _That_ sure was something.

"Or _maybe_ ," she continues, "You're going off to meet Augustus in the woods again. I bet that's it," she says, getting herself worked up. _Here we go again..._ " You bloody boyfriend stealing slag."

"Ex-boyfriend," I correct. I can't help it. She makes it so easy. On another note, did she just call me a fucking _slag?_

"Ex-boyfriend all thanks to you!" One of her fingers is pointed at me in accusation.

"What can I say? It's hard to resist my charm." I'm agitated at this point. I _really_ need to go out and hunt.

"I bet you're just using him to get yourself up the duff to, um, uh, to make a point!" She gets a perplexed look on her face as she says this, probably wondering what the hell just came out of her mouth. She wouldn't be alone—I'm wondering that as well. She nods her head as if she were trying to reassure herself of her statement. "Yeah," she adds.

"Aleister _Crowley_ , What the _hell_ are you on about?"

"Well it's just that-," she starts, but I cut her off as quickly as she began. Honestly, and to my surprise, I find myself at a complete loss for words.

"I-..." I don't even know which words to say, and it's all thanks to her _own_ particularly _disturbing_ ones. Does she honestly think that of me? I'm quite disgusted. Surely she's just trying to say whatever she can to disgruntle me. "You know what, Snow? Absolutely. You've sussed me out." Her eyes widen as I say this. She looks taken aback.

"Wait, I didn't realise that you actually-... I was right?" Her voice is wavering. Is she actually speaking to me right now? Are these actually the words that are coming from her mouth? The paranoid bloody git seems to think the world centers around her.

How _dare_ she imply that I would do something so utterly _disgusting_ just for the sake of, in her words, _making a point?_ Does she really think so _highly_ of herself? _Really_? Every thought in my head is telling me to put her ego back in check, and remind her of where exactly it is that she stands.

"Have you gotten yourself _plastered_ while I was gone? Or are you just the _thickest_ , most _dim-witted_ girl I've _ever_ had the displeasure of speaking with? I was being _sarcastic_ , you right _prat_." That girl, that infuriating, _beautiful_ girl is going to be the death of me.

"Huh?" She's looking at me wide eyed, her bog-standard blue eyes showing an emotion that I can't quite put a finger on. The clueless look on her face is more than enough to set me off. How can _anyone_ be so bloody _thick?_

* * *

 

**Sophie**

Baz is angry. I don't _blame_ her. I _did_ call her a slag and then imply that she's trying to sneak out into the woods to meet up with my ex-boyfriend to get herself _up the duff_. I didn't _mean_ it, but I do know that she has a thing for Auggie. And he has a thing for her right back. So, yes, I was trying to strike a low blow and get her to spill some information.

I know what she's going out to do. (I've known since 5th year.) I just haven't been able to get her to admit it yet. But for some reason, when she told be that I'd sussed her out, I can't deny that I had a small moment of panic. It was stupid. Me asking her if I had been _right_ was somehow even _more_ stupid. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

She's looking at me now. I always describe her grey eyes as stormy. (Never outloud, obviously. Just to myself.) I always used to mean it in a figurative sense—a way to describe the colour of them. With the way she's looking at me now, her eyes are stormy in a nearly literal sense. She's angry, and she has thunderstorms raging in her eyes, threatening to destroy me.

Shes walking towards me, now. Slowly—like an animal stalking their prey. She's just about 3 inches taller than me on her own, but she always wears heeled shoes with her uniform. I used to swear that she did it only for the sole purpose of spiting me. She's always dressed rather smart, actually. She seems to have a need, almost, to be the most posh and well put together student at Watford. She wears tights under her uniform skirt, her tie is always perfect, and she even _smells_ pretty! Like cedar and bergamot. Her uniform never even gets _wrinkled!_ She probably magicks it to be that way.

She wears rings on her long, slender fingers. Jewelry also has a tendency to make its way around her neck and her wrists. Her jewelry always matches—they come in sets. (Minus the rings—those are her own personal little touch.) She _used_ to wear these beautiful dangly earrings, and she had a pair for each set. It all must've cost a bomb.

One day in fourth year we had a particularly nasty fight and I grabbed her by the earring and _pulled_. It ripped clean out—tore straight through her ear. It wasn't a pretty sight—or sound, for that matter. I secretly felt pretty terrible about it. It must've hurt like hell. Ever since the _incident_ , the only earrings she wears are studs, and her left earlobe has a nasty scar.

As of now, with her heels, she's about 5 inches taller than me. She's close enough for me for goosebumps to make their way up my arms. Goosebumps of _fear_. It's certainly enough to pull me out of my thoughts and drag me back to reality. The reality where my vampire roommate is about to _kill_ me.

"Snow, you are the most _gormless_ ," She gives me a rough shove. _Barmy_." Again. " _Trollop!_ " She shoves me once again. A _trollop_ , huh? Well if _that's_ how it's going to be, then I really don't feel as bad for calling her a slag.

My back is up against a the wall. She's going to kill me. She's going to finally do it. It's 8th year right now anyway, how much does she really have to lose? If she were to kill me now, she'd be kicked out of Watford, but the Old Families would worship her like a bloody _goddess_. Hell, they might even have a statue put up in her honour. At least I wouldn't be alive to have to see it.

All thoughts go out the window when she raises a fist, about to punch me right in the face.

"Anathema!" I'm panicked, and my voice is completely giving it away. It's quivering, and dripping in terror. _Shite_ , I _hate_ her seeing me like this—all fearful and weak. She stops and lowers her fist before scowling at me.

"I wouldn't have even punched you." She was lying through her teeth, probably a bit surprised with herself for being so close to losing her control and beating me to a bloody pulp. "I was just trying to scare you." I can't bring myself to do anything other than stare at her wide eyed and open mouthed. "You're not getting rid of me _that_ easily, you right _skiver_ ," she spat.

And just like that, I was shoved out of the way as she slammed the door behind her. I didn't have it in me to follow her.

_Was it something that I said?_


	2. Literally First, Figuratively Second

**Sophie**

"You really shouldn't go around calling other girls _slags_ ," Perry chastised. "It's very derogatory."

"I don't _care_ , Perry. It doesn't count when I say it to _Baz_ , anyway. She's not a girl."

"What do you reckon she is, then?"

"I don't know," I huffed, biting off another mouthful of scone. "a monster? A super-villain?" I cross my arms defensively. "Whatever she is, she's bent as a nine-bob note. I can't just let my guard down." I take a quick glance at my surroundings to make sure no one's trying to earwig in on Perry's and my conversation. "I was only doing it to get information out of her," I whisper once I've assured myself that it was safe to speak. The _last_ thing I need is for either Baz or one of her _minions_ finding out that I'm investigating her.

Sure, Baz knows that I'm suspicious of her, but she doesn't know the full plan, and I refuse to have someone queer my pitch during my last year at Watford.

"Sophie," he sighed, "really, your obsession has gotten well out of hand. You've said your part, and you've gone well over your limit for talking about Baz." He swats my arm. "And don't speak with your mouth full."

"No," I retaliated, crumbs falling from my mouth. Perry puts his head in his hands. I'd be surprised that he wasn't fed up with my antics after nearly 8 years if the two of us weren't practically inseparable. I've got nothing to worry about.

"You've got bits of scone in your hair, Sophie."

"I'm saving it for later!"

"You have the manners of a goblin," Perry chuckled, plucking crumbs from my bronze curls.

My hair goes down to my shoulders—it's grown a bit since the start of 8th year. I cut it short at the end of term each year. I had planned to grow it out and keep it that way during my first year at Watford. It grew pretty long—Perry liked to braid it—but it only lasted up until the tail end of the year.

I had made the mistake of going to bed with braided hair. Baz used to threaten my with chopping my hair off during the night, informing me that the Anathema couldn't protect me from a botch-up hair job.

One night, after I had just gotten back from another mission from the Mage, I was completely knackered. In fact, I was kackered enough to not take my hair out of it's braid, _and_ to let Baz's threat to completely slip my mind. Falling asleep with my hair all neatly bunched up in a braid made it far too easy for her to snip off in one cut.

Perry used to tell me not to worry. "She's all mouth and no trousers," he'd say. Surely she wouldn't have gone _through_ with it, right? _Surely_ she wouldn't jump at the first _possible_ opportunity she was presented with, _right_? Wrong. The joke is on her. I made it a tradition of sorts—cutting my hair short annually. It's stuck with me, and I'm a creature of habit.

I've got a lot of habits, actually. Most of them are nervous habits. I fiddle _constantly_ with (and sometimes chew on) my talisman necklace. It's cross shaped, gold, and anti-vampire. Dr. Wellbelove gave it to me. It's a family heirloom of theirs, but they'd be off their rocker to think they're getting it back. Augustus and I may have broken up, but it's the only thing that lets me sleep at night.

A second habit of mine is running my fingers through my hair when I'm particularly stressed or miffed. Baz always gives me weird looks when I do this—it's unsettling. I try not do this when she's around.

Another habit I've learned to avoid with a nearby Baz is chewing my nails. My nails are still wonky—not as wonky as they used to be—and Baz _always_ takes the piss. Of _course_ her nails _always_ have to be in _perfect_ shape. She keeps them oval shaped and quite short. She _used_ to have nails that were long and sharp. Perry and I used to call them her talons. _She_ referred to them as her _Snow Scratchers._

The name was well accurate. Whenever one of our little argy-bargies would turn physical (which was rather frequent), she would scratch the _hell_ out of me—sometimes she would even draw blood. She kept good care of them of course, just like she does now—filed into perfect shape and painted all pretty.

She still paints her nails, but now they're kept short and smooth. She couldn't scratch me even if she _wanted_ to. She cut them short sometime during the summer of 5th year, before 6th year began, and has kept them like that ever since. I never really got around to asking _why_ she snipped her talons off.

" _Merlin_ , Sophie! How can you _possibly_ have so many crumbs in your hair?" Perry sounds utterly _gobsmacked_ with my crumb collection. "It looks like your hair just nicked and entire bakery!"

"I _know_ , Perry. It's not my fault! It's not all from this morning, if that makes you feel any better."

"No, Sophie. It really, _really_ doesn't."

"Well, it only breakfast right now, so I haven't had a chance to shower yet."

"And..?"

" _And_ ," I continue, "Baz showers in the mornings so I shower at night. We have it all worked out. _So_ , as I was _saying_ , I get hungry sometimes at night, and I sneak some food up to my room for late night snacking. I had already showered before I fell asleep eating a snack, and haven't had a chance to wash it all out yet."

"So, you mean to tell me that you fell asleep in the _middle_ of eating a _scone_ , and then rolled around in it?"

"Precisely."

"Oh, Sophie. What am I going to do with you?" He laughs, shaking his head at me. " _ **Clean as a whistle!**_ "

* * *

 

**Baz**

If I'm being completely honest with myself, I threw a bit of a paddy last night. Sure, what Snow said was rude, and, quite frankly, disturbing as hell, but I didn't mean to nearly _punch_ the girl. I think the part that got me the most miffed was when the daft nutter actually _believed_ me when I was so _clearly_ being sarcastic. She's still so _disgustingly_ in love with Wellbelove, that it's to the point where she's jealous enough for blatant sarcasm to go right over her pretty head.

Whatever it was that happened last night, it's in the past. I just have to make it through my last year at Watford before I don't ever have to see Sophie _bloody_ Snow _ever_ again. (Well, at least not until she decides to kill me.) While thought of being Snow-free brings on a bit of relief, it still leaves me feeling a bit gutted. I hate how she can make me feel that way. It isn't _fair_.

Maybe I'll kiss her right before she kills me. What would she be able to do about _that_? Kill me again? Conk a lifeless corpse on the nose? I'd die knowing that I got to kiss Sophie Snow, and there was _nothing_ that she would be able to do about it. What a pleasant thought.

Thoughts like those are the only daydreams of mine that carry even a _sliver_ of a chance at being _somewhat_ plausible. Said daydreams, of course, would be the ones where Snow follows up my kiss with a swift punch in the eye, or maybe even with her sword.

I'm in love with her. _Hopelessly_ in love with her.

It's absolutely _pathetic_. Not only is Snow as straight as an arrow, not _only_ does she hate my guts, but she's _still_ ridiculously in love with her ex-boyfriend. (Which she blames me for—fair enough.)

They _were_ the golden couple, after all. Meant to be—a storybook ending. How sweet. She's _still_ so heartbroken over the whole ordeal. It's caused her to practically lose her bloody marbles, apparently.

I can hear it in the way that she accuses me of doing the most _outlandish_ —usually sexual—acts with her _precious_ Wellbelove. She's so jealous of me that all of her common sense has simply gone right out the window. (Not that that's saying much.)

Jealously does strange things to her. I think jealousy does strange things to _all_ of us.

I keep having the same dream over and over again. It's the kind of dream that people never want to wake up from. In the dream, it turns out that it had actually been _Wellbelove_ that she was jealous off all along, and she had just been too thick to realize it sooner. In that same dream, I take Wellbelove as my date to a dance, _just_ to spite Snow. At he dance, Snow wobbles up to us (yes, wobbles—she can't walk in heeled shoes for the _life_ of her) and interrupts us mid-dance. Then, she'd take _my_ hand instead of his, and whisk me away to a night of pure bliss.

I'm in shambles and it's _all_ her fault.

* * *

 

**Sophie**

"This is your _last_ chance," I say, my arms crossed. I'm trying my best to appear confident. Perry says that if you want _other_ people to believe in you, you have to believe in _yourself_ first. Right now I want Baz to believe that she better take this last chance while she has it, or _else_.

"My last chance for _what_ , Snow?" She sounds exasperated. I'm sitting on my bed working on a PoliSci assignment (or, trying to, at least), and Baz is standing over on her side of the room getting ready for her football practise. She's dressed for it and ready to go. Her makeup has been wiped off, but I still think she looks breathtaking. Not in a _lesbian_ way. At least I don't _think_ that I mean that in a lesbian way.

"To tell me why you haven't been, I don't know... plotting against me?" I look down at the floor, thinking over my words to make sure I said everything right. Baz merely shakes her head at me in dissaproval.

"Maybe I'm simply not plotting against you, and my life doesn't happen to revolve around the _Chosen One_. Imagine _that_." I can feel my eyebrows beginning to furrow as she speaks. I _hate_  it when she calls me that. She pauses her speech, taking a moment to free her raven coloured waves from her hair bun. I like seeing her hair down like this. She pulls it back into a ponytail before continuing. "Then again, maybe I _am_. Watch your back, Snow." She smirks, winks, and is out the door.

It's all so clear now. She _is_ plotting. Just now, she tried to get into my head and confuse me. That can only mean one thing—she's using confusion tactics. _That's_ why she's been taking special care to make sure that her plotting wasn't blatant. If Baz wants to use underhanded tactics, then that's _fine_ with me.

_Two can play that game, Pitch._

* * *

 

**Baz**

The sun doesn't burn me to ashes like in those old vampire stories. That's the thing—they're stories—rubbish. The sun _still_  does bother me a _tad_ , though. It makes my skin burn in kind of a mild-to-moderate itch sort of fashion. It’s not really a big issue. The sun _should_ be setting below the horizon within the next half hour or so, anyway. 

There is _one_ thing that's bothering me to a _much_ higher extent, though.

Snow is sitting in the grass watching us—watching _me_. Crowley, it really _is_ starting to feel like 5th year all over again. She has the notebook that Bunce gave her last year resting on her thighs. She's staring at the ground, appearing to be deep in thought, chewing on the end of her pen. _Disgusting_.

I decide to try my best to ignore her. That's the tricky thing about Snow. Trying to ignore her is like trying to ignore ten-thousand air horns, all going off at once.

I can't ever seem to get Snow out of my head, out of my thoughts, or even out of my _way_. She occupies more than enough spaces already. I do _not_ need to have to worry about getting her out of my bloody  _football_ practise, of all things.

* * *

 

**Sophie**

There's no denying that there's something beautiful in the way Baz moves. She's strong, fast, and _ruthless_. She's muscular too, in a lean and toned way. I have to admit, she’s _right_ fit as well. She's also powerful, beautiful, and elegant. It's _infuriating_. It almost makes me forget that she's a right _toff_ who can't get her scheming, conniving hands off my ex-boyfriend. _Merlin_.

Honestly, though, I could have watched her through the entire practise. I left midway through, though. I didn't want to come off as _weird_. I _may_ have already crossed that threshold, but that's beyond the point. I had business to do.

I only was able to take a few notes while I watched the football team's practise:

_ Plotting _

_1\. Baz keeps looking over at me—appears to be rather miffed. Likely is not happy that I can see right through her_

_2\. Baz looks really pretty. Probably to appear less guilty._

_3\. Baz winked at me—again! Second time today! Obvious conclusion: mind tricks. Or she's just a smug prat. Not as cheeky as she thinks she is!  
_

_4\. Baz needs to wear her hair in a ponytail more often. Why does she always wear it toed back in a bun. Suspicious? Maybe?_

_5\. She's wearing a skivvy under her football uniform. It's hardly even cold out! Hiding vampire bites? Watford uniform already covers the back of the neck well enough. The football uniform does not. Hence—the skivvy. Not plotting related but vampire evidence. Need to fill Perry in later!_

_6\. Baz keeps looking over at me! She looked me right in the eyes while she drank her water during break! It dribbled down her chin. Probably like the blood of her victims. It was also really attractive? I'm not a lesbian though. She's trying to mess with my head!_

_6\. Haha oops I wrote 6 twice. I meant to write 7 :)_

_7\. Okay that's all! Need to see what Perry thinks._

So far, I haven't gathered much. I give my notes a brief once-over before closing it and sticking it in the small space between my bed and the wall.

I had put the notebook away just in time, too. Not even 30 seconds after my evidence against Baz was stashed away, she came through the door.

She was a bit sweaty, and she was panting softly from her exercise. Her eyes were half lidded—she's probably _well_ knackered. I can feel my cheeks heating up.

She threw me a sneer. _Classic Baz_. "Why haven't you showered yet? You're making the whole room smell like rubbish."

"Wonderful to see you too, Baz." I roll my eyes and she scoffs.

"You say that as if you _weren't_ just outside stalking me."

"Don't flatter yourself."

"Funny that you would find that flattering, Snow. I'm getting in the shower." Usually, Baz showers in the mornings and I shower at night. On nights when she has football practise, however, I shower while she's out on the pitch and then _she_ showers once she gets back to our room so she doesn't have to go to bed all gross and sweaty.

"Wait! I didn't shower yet!" I stand up from where I'm sitting on my bed. I'll _run_ to the bathroom if that's what it takes to shower first. She always uses up all the hot water.

"Remind me, Snow, when _exactly_ did I ask?" She was headed in the direction of the bathroom. I ran for it, barreling past her and knocking her out of the way, taking her by surprise. "Snow!" She and I were grappling for the door handle now, both of us trying to shove the other one out of the way.

She's stronger than me, and eventually manages to overpower me. The next thing I know, she has my wrists above my head, pinning me to the wall beside the bathroom door. "What the _hell_ do you think you're _doing_ , Snow?" She was glaring at me.

"Let go!" I'm struggling against her, but to no avail. "What the hell do you think _you're_ doing, _Pitch?_ "

"Im not letting you go until you agree to let me shower first! You have  _had_ your chance and you _should_ have _taken_ it! It’s not _my_ fault you chose to go and _stalk_ me instead!”

Her grip is too tight. I give up on struggling. It appears I'll have to solve this kerfuffle with _words_ instead of _actions_. Unfortunately, I'm shite at words.

I get a good look at her. She's close—too close. She narrows her eyes at me, waiting for a response and impatiently chewing at her bottom lip. _Merlin and Morgana_ , what is she _doing_ to me?

Wait—there's only one possible reason for me to be thinking of her this way. I'm not even gay! She, or _maybe_ even (but doubtfully) someone else, must've spelled me to think I'm attracted to her! It's so obvious, now that I think about it. An infatuation spell would be the _perfect_ plot!

There are three things that I can think of off the top of my head that she might want to do with this infatuation spell. One would be to make me fancy her enough to not kill her. That way it would be easy for her to kill me first. It seems plausible enough.

Another reason might be to humiliate me and give her yet another way to mock me. Knowing her family, I wouldn't be at all surprised if she were a homophobe, but it's not much of an elaborate or long term plan. It could be a decoy plot, maybe?

Finally, making me _think_ that I have feelings for her would get me out of the way, leaving Augustus completely available. I just need to put aside this faux attraction, and narrow down my options.

"Baz?"

"What is it _now_ , Snow?" She sighs in exasperation as she answers me. She's probably not too happy about me being so stubborn about the shower.

"Are you a homophobe?" Maybe there was a better way to phrase that, but it’s too late now. Baz chokes.

" _What?_ "

"Answer the question!"

"I-.. No! Why would you even ask that?" She's flustered. That's odd. Anyway, option two can probably be ruled out. If she were planning to make fun of me for my so called "attraction" towards her, she wouldn't be so defensive about being called a homophobe.

It leaves two options.

I've said it before and I'll say it again—two can play that game.

If she wants to play the attraction game, then so be it. I’m going to beat her at her own little stunt.

I’m going to sweep her off her feet.

_Literally first, figuratively second._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided that I’m going to make this work 4 chapters rather than three. Thank you all for reading!! Please let me know what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please tell me what you think and let me know of any ways I can improve (I’ll love you forever!)


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